Waiting
by Bones365
Summary: Hermione waits for Ron to come home to her.


Jerking awake, Hermione waited for it to come. She waited for two arms to encircle her. She waited for two hands to stroke her arms or cheek while she waited for a set of perfect lips to caress her hair. She waited for the soft, groggy words of comfort and concern. She waited to feel the love, the utter amazement washing over her that someone this good and true and pure could ever love her, _her_.

She waited for the safety, for the tightness to disappear from her chest so that she could breathe. She waited for the strong muscles to pull her against a solid chest, assuring her that all was as it should be, that all was well. She waited for the flicker of long, callused fingers across her brow, brushing the hair out of her face or behind her ears. She waited for the certainty that it was over.

Hermione waited for Ron.

All the waiting took only a second, and then she realized that it wouldn't come. None of those things, at least not tonight.

No, Ron was away, called into some emergency abroad, or at home. No one ever told Hermione where he went.

"It's safer this way, love. It's better for you not to know. Trust me." _Safer._ She huffed out a breath and flicked her eyes open.

_Safer that I stay here by myself not able to sleep and only the owl for company?_ She thought, sitting up in the big, cold bed. Hermione could lie in the middle of it and stretch her arms out and her fingertips would just barely be able to brush the edges of the mattress, but the bed still wasn't big enough for her and her insomnia.

Stepping onto the plush carpet, she decided to leave her sleeplessness in the bed and padded downstairs to the living room. On nights like this, Hermione could always count on Jane to pull her through, to relax her thoughts just enough so that she could catch a few hours of sleep.

Running her finger lightly over the titles, she wondered what she should start with. Mansfield Park? Pride and Prejudice? Or perhaps Sense and Sensibility? Emma, maybe?

_Yes. That's what I need! I need some matchmaking and mayhem…_ Curling up on the couch, she opened her well-worn tome and lost herself in its pages.

The next night, she could be observed by passers by in the same position, with the same faded orange t-shirt on, with a different book. And the next night, and the next. So it was with bags under her eyes and a short temper that she met Harry for lunch on the day of Ron's return.

"Nightmares again?" He asked conversationally, watching her plop into her chair and slump forward. While Ron wasn't gone overnight very often, but every time he was, the dreams would creep into her subconscious. He had known her long enough to know this.

He also knew (mostly because he was with him many times on an emergency call), that Ron didn't sleep well without her, either. Though _his_ sleep wasn't marred by memories and past scars, it was also rarely present at all. Harry had lain and listened to his best friend toss and turn for hours without his wife next to him, never able to fully ascertain the rest he needed.

"They're not nightmares, per say, they're just not…pleasant." Harry nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. "I don't mind, really. I know that he does what he does because he must, but, really, must he do it so often?"

Harry smiled and shook his head, only recalling three times in the past year that Ron had been called away for more than one day.

"Hitting up the Jane Austen, I see. You're talking just like she writes."

"It's the only way I can get back to sleep! And it's never for very long. The house is just very large and quiet without him." Yes, the perfect, two-story, red-brick, fairytale cottage of her dreams was slowly beginning to turn on her. The gleaming wooden floorboards would creak as if someone were walking across them, the shutter on the downstairs bathroom swung slightly in the wind, the perfect dogwood tree branches would scratch on the kitchen window, creating an environment that, far from being conducive to sleep, only made her wish harder that her husband were there.

"You could always stay in Godric's Hollow with me and Gin. You know the guest bed is always open for you."

"Yes, but I'd feel silly. I wouldn't want to put you two out. Though," She added, seeing him about to object, "if things get too bad, I'll be sure to send an owl over." She wouldn't, though, and they both knew it.

Walking back into the foyer after work, she knew exactly why. She wouldn't leave this house for anything. Tracing her fingers over the protection runes Ron had carved into the wooden doorframes, on the stair rails, into the very bones of the house they had built together, she knew that.

She glanced at the pictures on the fireplace mantel. There were wedding pictures, honeymoon pictures, moving-in day pictures, all treasured and important moments in her and Ron's life together. At one end a moving snapshot of two squirming eleven year olds in oversized school robes, at the other a candid shot of their one year anniversary, Ron sweeping her up in a kiss as she beamed.

Her gaze roaming over the life they had made, she froze and gasped.

"You scared me!" She reprimanded, smiling.

"You were thinking very hard, I don't like to disturb the thought process." Ron said, taking the last bite of the sandwich in his hand and stepping further into the room, out of the kitchen.

"If you had any decency at all, you'd announce yourself when you walk in." She stepped closer to him, still smiling.

"Good thing I haven't got any decency." He said, closing the distance between them and pulling her against him.

Hermione furrowed her brow and twined her arms around his neck, raising up on her tip-toes to reach. "No decency at all?" Her voice was shot through with sarcastic innocence. Ron shook his head. "I don't think that I like that. My husband ought to have _some_ decency, don't you think?"

Ron was still shaking his head. "If I had any decency, love, I couldn't do this." Hermione felt his hands cup her behind as he pulled her even closer. A laugh forced its way from her lips.

"Oh. Well I _am_ quite fond of-" But her sentence was broken off by his mouth on hers.

They kissed like they hadn't seen each other in years, desperately and achingly and joyously happy. Their hands were everywhere, touching and caressing, re-memorizing every line and curve of the other.

Soon, Hermione found herself on her back on the couch. The same couch that had seen her reading up at all hours, waiting for him to come home. But now he _was_ home, and it was like a cleansing, burning away the past few days without him until all she could see and feel and think was him, on top of her, kissing her, peeling her shirt off of her body.

She loved the feel of his hands on her, his long fingers stroking over her skin. Ron made her feel so pretty, small, feminine, even, which is something that she had never felt in her entire life. Having Ron laying above her, brushing his lips over her face, running his nose down the side of hers, practically worshiping her body, it was easy to feel like the most attractive woman in the world.

"You're so pretty." Him whispering things like that into her ear, and being completely sincere, didn't hurt either. Kissing his way down her neck, to her breasts, then her belly button, he sighed.

"I missed you." She groaned, feeling him unbutton her jeans, pull the zipper down so slowly she thought she would lose her mind. Ron sat back on his heels and took her in. Her eyes were half closed, and she was peeking out at him from behind her long lashes. A flush had spread from her neck down to her chest, a blush was feathering across her cheeks, her breathing uneven. Ron pulled her jeans down her hips, past her thighs, and he froze, the sight before him blowing his mind a little.

"Hermione," his voice was strangled, and she grinned, even as her blush deepened. "you aren't wearing any underwear." Her grin widened and he went on. "And there's not…I mean no…what…"

"It's called a Brazilian Bikini wax." Ron continued to stare down at her, speechless, and she took pity. She reached up and drew him to her, kissing him deeply.

"I figured I'd surprise you when you got back. It's incentive not to leave again for a while." There was a pause as Ron bent his head to look back between her thighs. Guiding his wrist, she drew his hand there. "Is it working?"

"Bloody Hell, yes." His voice broke as his fingers brushed over her hairless flesh. Hermione gasped, and after that things were moving so much quicker. She was helping out of his jeans and his face was buried in her neck as he buried himself inside her and she was screaming, pushing against him, digging her fingers into his back.

Later, they lay under the thick afghan, Hermione lying on top of Ron, her head in the crook of his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head.

"I missed you."

She smiled, looking up at him. "Good. It makes you come back to me faster."

"I'll always come back to you as fast as I can."

"I'll always be here waiting for you." Their kiss was gentle, soul-deep. Ron smiled into it and his hand began to wander down her body.

"Though I have to say, I'll come back even faster if I know _this_ is waiting…" Hermione gasped, feeling his hands do something wicked. She kissed him again.

"I think that can be arranged."


End file.
